


Inkpiled: A collection

by puppyinked



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poetry, Sapphic, Tags May Change, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28289532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppyinked/pseuds/puppyinked
Summary: A collection of short stories that will be uploaded according to when I finish each one. The intro being the first story, Small.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character





	1. Small

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't great and it isn't part of any fandom that I know of but it's the reason I wanted to join ao3 for, to share my work as a young author and hope someone likes it. 
> 
> *THIS WILL BE APART OF SEVERAL ONESHOT STORIES!!! IT'S A COLLECTION!!!*
> 
> Please enjoy, Small, and the rest of the collection, Inkpiled. (If I add more stuff to it)...

Her finger trailed across the soft, yellowed paper, given it's old appearance from the years it's been sitting in the damp abandoned library. I can see her trace her nail on it's worn ink. Beautiful stories were woven from the depths of every letter, and her soft laughter began to rise up whenever she saw a line she liked.

She looked at me, with gentle brown eyes, like mountains ever tranquil, and asked me,

"What do you think this ancient poem is about?"

I look at the aged paper, curious about what she had just read. She takes the paper and leans it away from me, a smile taking form on her face like tides going over grainy sands.

"No peaking!"

She says with another giggle bubbling in the back of her throat. She always had such a comforting laugh, like that of a mother playing with her child. I pondered about what kind of poetry the people of the past would make...How curious, the world before the new one. How curious.

"Is it about love?"

"Bingo!"

A love poem, eh? Love was expressed in such a different way back then, in all of its black and whiteness. She hands me the poem and I begin reading it,

_'The worms under the dirt have borrowed out of their tunnels to above the soft earth. The wild dogs, and beasts, and creatures covered in fur and affection, have skittered from the edges of their vermin dominated forests. Birds of ebony skin fly around pools of white light, and the dark seeps in from the corners. They have all come to witness your waking. Your simple arousal in the early morning has brought thousands of little lives to your feet. Do you know that? My love. Do you? You bring nature to its hind legs and make it drool, you bring me to my knees and watch me pray. You bring me to you. You bring me.'_

I put my hand on my chin and lean towards her, my heart feeling softened from the beautiful art laid out before me. She smiles and looks at me, and we both just stare. For a moment I forget everything, about life, about school, about breathing. The only thought I could conjure was, "Wow". The sunlight had reached its golden hour and it hit her skin in a way that made her practically glow. Imagine a serphim sitting in the seat beside you, their halo like a lightbulb never blown out. That's what it looked like.

"Your eyes"

I get abruptly sent back to Earth, seemingly by God himself. I blink, tilt my head, and furrow my slightly messy brows.

"Your pupils look bigger then before…"

What a strange thing to say. Then again, she is a strange girl. I can't help but lift my lips up at this small display. Her brows lower too, and she puts her hands out in front of her.

"I mean like—like pupil dilation? Usually it happens when you see something you like, or if it gets dark. I'm sorry if that's…a bit weird"

"No, no, its fine"

_Usually happens when you see something you like…_ now that I think of it, that's not too far off.

"So, what did you like about the poem?"

Her eyes bubble up again, bright expression plastered on her, now golden, face.

"There's…recurring themes of nature, lots of romanticism of this one lover, word repetition for emphasis, and of course, beauty of small things." I say with a low, calm voice.

"Beauty of small things?"

I pick up the poem, gently as to not make it crack, and recite a line,

"Your simple arousal in the early morning brings thousands of little lives to your feet."

"No, not that. What _about_ the beauty of small things that makes you like it?"

I pause for a moment, letting my eyelids shut, the light of the sun tinting them slightly red. I start up again.

"Happiness is not a state of mind, it comes and goes. Happiness is a moment, and those happen to be quite small."

"Go on…"

"Well, what I'm trying to say is that happiness, in itself, is small. How you make yourself happy is in the wake of small things. So I think, small things are beautiful. In truth, they really are."

She looks down at the cobweb-y table, scratches with hearts and initials etched into the top. I can see her trace her nails on the poem's loving letters again. I look back down at the poem, and find that there's no name written on it.

"This poem is a poem without a title, apparently."

Still tracing the letters, she closes her eyes and says,

"How about we both name it?"

She takes out a ballpoint pen, handing it to me, smile on her face.

"I say we call it, Artemis in her wake!"

"Well, if we label the lover as some sort of god, we take out a bit of that 'small' aspect."

"Ah, you're right…"

We both sit back in our too short chairs in our too small room. The sun is starting to set. I can see her head start to swim, and sway. A minute passes, an odd silent one.

"Listen…" She says, voice hoarse from laughing, and talking, and singing in some way.

"This might just be the mushy brain part of me talking but I really need to get this off my chest."

I look at her, and suddenly she wraps her arms around me tightly. I can feel the warmth emanating from her skin. I hug back, the feeling of heat and electricity running up and down my spine. My body urged me to do something, but I couldn't even tell what it was.

She buries her soft nose into the crook of my neck, little breaths tickling across my torso. Her voice comes back after a painfully long few seconds,

_"I love you."_

She pulls back from the hug, that overwhelming urge getting evermore stronger. I stare at her, yearning for her to continue the embrace. I can see her look away in shame, face getting red.

"That's wrong isn't it? Two girls can't do that, it's—"

I placed my hand on her thigh, praying that she perceived it as comforting or reassuring.

"Were you seriously scared of telling me this?"

"I-…Yeah…"

She looks down at her hands, fiddling with them. I look at her eyes to see that her pupils look, well, big.

Instinctively, as if second nature, I pull her close to me…

_And I kiss her._

It feels, good, obviously. It sent a shock of emotions, and sensations into my body. I almost shivered when her grip on my back tightened slightly. She tastes of cinnamon and caramel, sweet things. I hear her groan and pant under her breath between each pull away. Then she stops, sounding raspy and winded.

"You…You're always pulling these risks. These crazy little peaks of confidence you have- they drive me mad. "

"Small"

"Huh?"

"It just donned on me. It's minimal, but powerful. So I say we name the poem, Small"

She giggles, that once nervous expression replacing with happiness. She embraces me again, burying her head into my chest. I can feel the prior tension of the room flutter away like my own heart. It marks a moment. A quite small moment. She quickly writes the name down on the paper, careful not to rip it.

"Yeah…

Small."


	2. Day and Night [An Interlude]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day and the night, always cycling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently writing a piece about an angel and a girl. In the meantime, here is an interlude to keep your stomach full, and your patience put to peace.

_If the day said:_ IF WE WERE SPLIT BY THE WHIM OF ZEUS, ONLY TO BE PULLED TO EACH OTHER BY THE WEIGHT OF OUR OWN BONES, I WOULD HAVE BEEN COMPLETELY CRUSHED BY OUR ATTRACTION. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD, I HOPE YOU ARE DREAMING OF ME, CONJURING IMAGES OF ME IN YOUR HEAD. I HOPE YOU FEEL THE WARMTH OF EVERY BREATH I TAKE, FEEL THE PRESSURE OF EVERY TOUCH I DELIVER TO YOU. I WANT YOU TO KNOW ME AND TO FEEL ME, TO FEEL MY EXISTENCE AS MUCH AS I WANT TO FEEL YOURS. I WANT TO FULFILL YOUR DESIRES. USE ME AS YOUR GUIDING LIGHT!

_If the night said_ : you smell like how the morning feels and sounds. you taste like fresh dew straight off of a green leaf. i think that i might be falling in love with you too. it’s such a simple feeling but it hit me like a moving train. the immense feeling i get whenever you speak to me is somewhat like a mixture of both joy and nervousness, a concoction of wistful urges i suppose. you know, you don't hesitate whenever you want to confess something to me. you take everything you need to say and dull it down to the point it hits way harder. i'm glad that you've taken the time out of your, well, day to tell me something as gentle and sweet as this. i'll lock it in my heart as a keepsake long after you're gone.


End file.
